With great care and devotion, I brought for Rama a generous array of food—some fine, some simple—and an abundance of fruits, all intended for his meal. Yet Rama, ever steadfast in truth and valor, gently declined everything I offered. He did not accept a single morsel, for he remembered the sacred duty of a warrior and the vows he had undertaken. With gentle persuasion, Rama spoke to us, saying, “We must not accept gifts, my friend, though we should always give.” His words, full of wisdom and self-restraint, left a deep impression on us, O King. Afterwards, Lakshmana fetched water, and the illustrious Rama drank, then observed the fast, accompanied by Sita. With the water that remained, Lakshmana performed the customary rituals. The three of them, restraining their speech, devotedly observed the evening worship together. When the time came to rest, Saumitri—Lakshmana—quickly gathered grass and prepared a pure resting place for Rama. Upon this simple bed, Rama lay down with Sita, and after washing their feet, Lakshmana respectfully withdrew. Here, at the root of the Ingudī tree, is the very place where Rama and Sita spent that night, lying on the grass that Lakshmana had arranged. As the night deepened, Lakshmana stood guard with unwavering vigilance. His back straight, his fingers poised on the bowstring, his quivers full of arrows, he watched over his brother and Sita, ever alert. I too, armed with an excellent bow and arrows, stood by Lakshmana’s side, accompanied by our vigilant kinsmen, all bearing bows. We guarded Rama through the night with the dedication of mighty Indra himself. Thus ended that night, and so concludes the eighty-eighth sarga in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. When Bharata had heard all that had transpired in detail, he, together with his counselors, approached the root of the Ingudī tree and gazed upon Rama’s humble resting place. Turning to all the mothers, Bharata said, “Here, that great-souled one spent the night on the ground; this is the mark where he lay.” He was filled with sorrow as he reflected, “Born to the illustrious and wise King Dasharatha, Rama, of noble lineage and great fortune, does not deserve to sleep on the bare earth. How does this tiger among men—who once slept on beds covered with the finest animal skins and luxurious bedding—now lie on the ground? He always dwelled in the highest palaces, on golden, silver, and jeweled floors, upon the best of beds. Surrounded by heaps of flowers, fragrant with sandalwood and agaru, in chambers bright as white clouds, resounding with the cries of parrots—he lived in the finest, cool, and fragrant palaces, like those atop Mount Meru, with walls adorned in gold. “Always he was awakened by the sounds of songs and musical instruments, the jingling of splendid ornaments, and the deep tones of the best drums. Praised at the proper time by bards, sūtas, and māgadhas, with fitting songs and hymns, that scorcher of foes was honored daily. “All this is unbelievable to me; it does not seem true. My mind is bewildered—perhaps this is a dream, I think. Surely, there is no deity stronger than fate, since Rama, son of Dasharatha, must sleep thus on the ground. And Sita, the beloved daughter of the king of Videha, dear to the eye and Dasharatha’s daughter-in-law, lies on the ground as well. “This is my brother’s bed; indeed, it has been turned over. The grass on this hard ground is pressed down by his limbs. I think Sita, adorned with her ornaments, slept on this bed then, for here and there golden drops are seen clinging. Here, Sita’s upper garment is caught, clearly visible; the silken threads are entangled here. “I think this bed was comfortable for my brother, for the young, ascetic, delicate Maithilī—though virtuous—did not feel hardship. Alas! I am truly cruel, for because of me, Raghava lies on such a bed with his wife, as if without support. Born in a royal lineage, bringing happiness to all people, beloved of all, he has abandoned the most cherished kingdom. “How is it that Raghava, dark as a blue lotus, red-eyed, delightful to behold, who deserves happiness and is worthy of no suffering, lies on the ground? Truly blessed and most fortunate is Lakshmana, of auspicious marks, who follows Rama, his brother, in this difficult time. Indeed, Vaidehī has attained her purpose, who followed her husband to the forest; but we are all left uncertain, deprived of that great soul. “The earth seems to me as if bereft of its streams, empty, with Dasharatha gone to heaven and Rama dwelling in the forest. No one even desires the earth in thought, though Rama dwells in the forest, for it is protected by the strength of his arms. With its council chambers empty, its horses and elephants unrestrained, its city gates open, the royal treasury unguarded—Ayodhya is vulnerable. Its army is dispirited, diminished, in adversity, unprotected; even enemies do not covet it, as one does not desire food mixed with poison. “From today, I too will lie on the ground or on grass, always eating fruits and roots, wearing matted hair and bark garments. For his sake, I will dwell happily in the forest for the remaining time, having made this promise; it shall not be false. For the sake of his brother, Shatrughna will not remain with me; but with Lakshmana, the noble one will protect Ayodhya. “The twice-born will anoint the descendant of Kakutstha in Ayodhya; may the gods grant that this true wish of mine be fulfilled, as I bow my head in supplication, if Rama does not return in many ways.” Thus did Bharata grieve and resolve, his heart full of longing and devotion for his beloved brother Rama.